The Bucket Glist
by GoddamnWrite
Summary: Kurt suffers a near brush with death at least, that's what he's calling it and Blaine concocts an ingenious plan to help him through it. Shenanigans are abound before Blaine starts to question what he really wants...
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Written mid season 2 with LolaInk

**The Bucket Glist  
(Or Things to Do In Ohio Before You're Dead)**

"Wes has apologised about fourteen times, Kurt. And he did shout fore." Blaine looked across at the boy, sitting crossed legged glaring at the library wall. "C'mon. Stop sulking."

Kurt huffed and inspected his nails. "I never wanted to go anyhow. I only went to model my new golf knickers. Which, by the way, are now _covered_in grass stains."

Blaine gave a small chuckle and a wave of irritation ran through Kurt. "I don't think you're taking this seriously enough," he snapped.

"Kurt, it was a very nasty bump on the head, but—"

"I was in a _coma!_"

"You blacked out!"

"They're practically the same thing." Kurt crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Blaine. "It's just like you to trivialise my problems." He sniffed haughtily; Blaine leaned over and gently squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm not trying to trivialise your problems, but don't you think you're overreacting a little?"

Kurt glared at him. Patronising bastard, who did he think he was, with his earnest eyebrows and tilted little gnome head?

"You turn your hair into Will I Am's spacehat every day and you're telling me I'm overreacting?"

Blaine continued to look at him with that same, condescending smile.

"Okay, fine. I'm may be overreacting just a tad."

"What's really bugging you, Kurt?"

Kurt sighed and looked over at Blaine. Sweet, kind, dependable, dreamy Blaine.

_Friend _Blaine.

"I looked it up, you know. If the ball had hit with a bit more force, if I hadn't been wearing a pop pom hat... something could have happened. I could have died! Die at the unfulfilled age of 16, alone and unsatisfied."

"Dramatic much?"

"Shut up." Kurt uncrossed his arms and sighed. "I'm serious! What if I crossed the road and got hit by a car tomorrow? I've done nothing! That's almost worse than dying all wrinkled and decrepit. _Almost._Oh god, I don't want to end up looking like Melanie Griffith's knees. "

"Like you said, you're only sixteen," Blaine shrugged and settled back in his chair. "And I doubt you're going to ever look like a knee, you're practically Peter Pan." Kurt shook his head, exasperatedly.

"That's irrelevant though, there's a whole load of things I could do now that I haven't."

A pained expression flickered across Blaine's face and he bit the end of his thumb in thought.

"Well there is always..."

"What?" Kurt eyed his friend cautiously, brow raised.

"Have you ever seen that film? With Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman."

* * *

"Kurt, this is _insane_. If you must to do this. then at least make it near the end. Because I'm pretty sure it's going to be the last thing you do."

"No, I have to do this." Kurt clenched his jaw. "It's important."

Blaine shook his head, his face pale as the McKinley students brushed past him. Shooting their Dalton blazers curious looks. "I really think that..."

"This was _your _idea!"

"Not _this_! I was thinking, I don't know, sky diving or swimming with dolphins."

"Oh, Blaine! That's not... Oh, my God! There he is!" Kurt shrugged off his jacket and handed it towards Blaine. "Hold this. Hold it gingerly. It creases like hell."

"Please don't do this, Kurt." Blaine clutched the jacket to him, ignoring Kurt's hissed _gingerly_. "We'll go find some really big fish. Pretend they are dolphins."

Kurt grabbed Blaine's shoulders and squeezed. "I can do this. I've been practising all night."

"What? How?"

"My pillow. It's duck feathers so...it's pretty much destroyed."

"I hardly think that's a testament to your strength, Kurt! No! Come back! At least remember one thing!" Blaine hissed and Kurt stopped walking, turning round with an expectant impression.

"Thumb on the outside!"

Kurt gave a nod . "Tell my father I love him. Tell Finn not to wear pinstripes to the funeral." He turned on his heel once more, making his way towards the target. Blaine was right, why the hell was this on his list? Why had he crossed out the original wish and added _this_ of all things. Oh, yeah. Because this was a thousand times more likely to go well, wasn't it? Which was _really _saying something. Plus it seemed nearly everyone in his old Glee club had done this at least once. Even Mercedes. Granted she'd been six at the time and she'd used her Barbie convertible as a weapon, but that was neither here or there.

"Hello, Karofsky." Kurt was pleased that his voice didn't tremble. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Karofsky turned, his eyes widening in shock and...fear?. "'Sup, Milkteeth?"

"I just wanted to say that..." Kurt licked his lips and tried not to cringe as Karofsky's gaze followed the movement. "I want to say that..."

"I ain't got all day, Ricky Martin. Spit it out." Karofsky moved closer, and began to grin his creepy half smile. Probably learned it from Jonathan King

"Well, you see..." Kurt glanced back to see Blaine peeking through his fingers.

Oh, _fuck it._

Kurt swung with all his might, gasping as his knuckles made contact with cheekbone. _Jesus!_That hurt. Oh, damn. Thumb on the outside! Thumb on the outside.

"Did..." Karofsky held his cheek in shock. "Did you just _punch_me?"

"Yeah!" Kurt sneered, jerking forward. Karofsky took a jump back still cradling his face. "Now, uh. Bye!"

Kurt spun round, rushing towards the other boy. "Run away, Blaine! Run away!"

**tbc**


	2. Chapter 2

"Shh!" Kurt hissed at Blaine as his hip knocked into the sideboard. They both froze, eyes glued to the vase as it trembled. After a moment it settled and righted itself. They two sighed in relief.

"Are you sure he isn't home?" Blaine whispered, looking around the room nervously.

"We watched him go, Blaine." Kurt rolled his eyes. And he won't be back for hours. Unless he shimmied up the drain pipe and climbed in through the window. I think we're good." Blaine's eyes sought the pane behind him. "He didn't do that, Blaine."

"Forgive me for being cautious! But this is a felony we are committing here!"

"Will you lower your voice?"

"You said no one was home."

"That doesn't mean you should test if this place is sound proof. Now come one. Help me find the bedroom."

Once Kurt found his goal, it was worse than he could have imagined.

"Oh, my Lord. Look at all that knitwear," he whispered as he opened the wardrobe. "It's like Narnia entered into a merger with a nursing home." He shook his head. "Blaine. My scissors."

"This feels kind of mean," Blaine said passing them into his palm. "What did he ever do to you?"

"It's not what he did to me." Kurt pulled one vest from the hanger. "It's what he did to fashion. And those gifted with sight."

Kurt brought the blade to the material and gave a steadying breath. In the name of Dior!

The scissors glittered under the beam of the moonlight and Kurt grinned as the vest gave way to the blade. Mr. Schuester would thank him. One day. When he discovered that clothes with sleeves existed.

Kurt worked fast, the floor soon covered in the remains of Mr. Shues' limitless supply. It was like a battlefield over-run with the corpses of wool and neutral earth shades. _The horror. The horror._

"Okay," Kurt said. "Hand me that last one. Blaine? Blaine?" The boy turned, his hands holding a green vest pressed against his torso.

"Good God, Blaine! Not you, too?!"

"But it really makes my eyes pop!"

"It's too big. It would look like a ball gown on you. A mutant, nightmare, knitted ball-gown. Now give it over."

Blaine glowered as he handed it to Kurt. "Why are all these things on your list so nuts?"

"Because, Mr. My-life-is-so-fulfilled, I spend all my life being composed and fabulous and I want to cut loose a few times before I die. Go crazy... you know, something to tell the grandkids."

"You want kids?"

"It's a saying. A phrase." Kurt shrugged as he chopped up the final monstrosity. "And, I don't know. Maybe."

"That's not on the list is it?" Blaine shook his head at Kurt's glare. "C'mon you have to let me see it. It would be nice to know if I should take out insurance."

"No. You'll laugh at me, my ego will be bruised and then I'll die withered and damaged, like old fruit. Do you want me to be old fruit, Blaine?"

"It can't be any more outrageous than riding those emus."

"Okay, first, outrageous? Hello, Jem, you appear to be missing some Holograms. And second, there is nothing wrong with riding an emu."

"It was the breaking into the farm at midnight to do it that I had a problem with." Blaine nibbled his lip and Kurt nearly cut off his thumb at the image. "Do you think it's creepy to use his bathroom?"

"I don't know. Are you planning on a shower?" The images that followed were enough for Kurt to almost cut off his own damn hand. "Go ahead."

Kurt sighed to himself as Blaine left. What was he doing? Ever since Blaine had suggested this it was like something had gone off in Kurt's brain and he couldn't switch it off. But he _needed_ the list to keep going because if he allowed it to get to the end...well, nearly falling out of a plane while covered in glitter had to be better than the outcome Kurt was imagining, and he was going to keep putting it off for as long as possible.

As he snipped at the final threads, Kurt looked up at the clock. Mr. Schue could be back at any moment and discover the key missing from underneath the doormat. It was time to make a getaway. Tucking the scissors away he went in search of Blaine.

"Oh! Kurt! This isn't what it looks like!"

"Blaine! What are you doing? Put those back."

Blaine clutched the bottles of hair gel to his chest. "This stuff is amazing though. It keeps your hair in place during a tornado. I read about it."

"It's stealing!"

"Oh? So it's fine for you but not for me? How's that fair?"

"I'm _vandalising!_ Not stealing. There's a difference."

"Fine, fine." Blaine dumped the products back on the side. "What now?"

"Item nine on the list

"Kurt! How many times have I told you? It's impossible to steal the moon!"


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt Hummel was _exhausted_. He could barely keep his eyes open. Fortunately Wes liked to punctuate each sentence with a bang of his gavel and secondly, Kurt was concealing a capuchin monkey on his person.

What was he doing? When had it gotten so out of hand? Kurt bit his lip and looked sideways at Blaine, who looked almost as shattered as he was. Unless you looked closely you almost couldn't see the small scratches that covered his neck. Kurt hissed as those same paws clawed against his stomach.

This was one pissed off monkey.

"Steal a what?" Blaine's eyes had widened incredulously as Kurt paced back and forth in the junior commons the day before.

"It's not stealing, Blaine, it's _liberating_. It's completely unfair, not to mention cruel, that our hairy little brothers are treated so badly." Kurt had said, smacking his hand on the table.

"The other day you were saying that you would totally wear a fur stole if you could get away with it."

"Yeah, but it had to be decades old and like rabbit or something, no one wants to wear chimp fur. It has a _really_unattractive sheen."

Forget all that. If the thing dug his claws once more Kurt was going to turn the damn thing into a belt.

"And next up is...is... Kurt? Are you okay?" Wes asked causing the other Warbler's to turn towards him curiously.

"Fine! Fine." Kurt squeaked back. Blaine raised his eyebrow and Kurt shook his head. "It's nothing I just..._ARGH!_Tickles!"

"What tickles?"

"Nothing! Nothing! Go on!"

"Are you sure? You look a bit...twitchy?"

"I'm honestly..." Kurt gave a yelp and pulled his jacket tighter around himself, hiding the bulge in his chest. "...fine."

"It's okay,' Blaine soothed. "Kurt's just coming down with that bug that's going round." Kurt jerked forward from his chair, leaping back almost immediately. "Er, St Vitus Dance. That bug." He grabbed Kurt's shoulders, holding him down "What are you playing at?" he hissed.

"It's not me!" Kurt snapped back, "Its Cassius, the little shit is trying to kill me!"

"Cassius? Really?"

"Bubbles was taken."

"Uh, guys?" Wes asked brusquely, "Do you care to tell us what's going on?"

That was when all hell broke loose.

Kurt could have sworn it happened in slow motion; Cassius bit Kurt's hand, weakening the boy's grip on his blazer. The tiny monkey then leaped from his chest with a furious, blood-curdling shriek and flew with scrabbling hands at Blaine's face.

"ARGH! MY EYES!"

Cassius scrambled up Blaine's face till he sat on his head, feet clinging to Blaine's ears and smacked him on the head with his hands like he was playing a large, hairy bongo. Each smack was echoed by the constant, high-pitched screech emanating from the monkey's mouth.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" Roared Wes, Blaine hadn't actually known he could do that.

"IT'S AN UNHOLY DEMON!" Thad yelled, pointing with a trembling finger. He was a Buffy fan; Kurt remembered and rolled his eyes.

"IT'S AN ROUS." Dalton boys were geeks.

"IT'S A WINGED LEMUR!" really, big geeks.

"It's a _monkey_" sighed Kurt.

"IT'S ON THE MOVE!" Wilson cried, jumping out of the way of the darting animal.

"CATCH IT!"That was Nick.

"Not the drapes! They're antiques!" David.

"KILL IT." Thad.

"Don't hurt him!" Kurt pleaded.

"My glasses!" Flint.

"That's an original edition of White Fang!" David, again.

"I'm allergic to primates!"

"_You _are a primate, Jeff!"

"It's got my gavel! It's got my gavel!"

"Calm down, Wes..."

"It's hitting me with my gavel! It's hitting me with my gavel!"

Dalton Academy had never seen so much action, Kurt snorted and ducked as a shoe flew through the air. Really, when this all ended they would be talking about it for _years_.

That was, if it ended soon.

"No, Robert! Not the bust of Hulme!"

"Protect Pavarotti! THE BIRD, THE BIRD! THE DAMN BIRD!"

"Flint Wilson, your shoe just hit me in the _face_"

"I was blinded by the monkey, I have no depth perception!"

"Blaine, stop using this as an excuse to climb on the sofas!"

It took 45 minutes, 3 torn blazers, 8 lobbed shoes and an assortment of lacrosse sticks, tennis rackets and cricket bats raised in waiting before the Warblers managed to corner Cassius.

"Okay," Kurt gasped breathlessly. "So we've managed to trap him on top of the bookcase, now we just need someone to—HEY! Is that? OH MY GOD."

For once, as the boys ran for the door, dodging Cassius' missiles, Kurt was glad they wore uniforms at Dalton.

They slammed the door shut behind them, the wailing sound of Cassius' raging barely muffled by the thick wood.

"I think you should have named him Sterculius."

"Oh, very funny Blaine, bravo. You're such a grown up."

"We're going to be in so much trouble! All the damage! Irreplaceable items are in that room!" David groaned.

"Oh David, I'm sure it's not that bad... just a bit of mess." Kurt's voice wavered nervously.

"Well, perhaps if _someone_ hadn't thought that it was an _absolutely marvellous_ idea to 'liberate' a 2ft torpedo of terror, we wouldn't _be_in this mess." Blaine snapped, glaring at Kurt.

"Calm down, Tinie Tempah!"

"Thad, Jeff? Go and fetch Mr. Blufkin, he'll know what to do."

"I don't believe this," Wes whimpered. "For the first half hour, I honestly thought it was Kurt's new stole."


	4. Chapter 4

"Remind me why this is on your list again?" Blaine sighed wearily, running his fingers through Kurt's blonde curls.

"Because the amount of times I've been compared to a girl, confused with my Mom over the phone, called Lady Face and had a site worker whistle at me whilst I was bending over only to scream when I stood up, is ridiculous. I want to see if I can get away with it." Kurt hoisted up his boobs and turned to assess himself in the mirror.

"What do you think, convincing?"

He pouted at Blaine with sugary pink lips and waggled his eyebrows. His curly blonde wig tumbled over the shoulder of a red checked shirt tied at the waist, showing the dip of his stomach above...

Jean shorts.

_Tight, short_, jean shorts.

"Uhm... your Adam's Apple is showing."

Kurt cocked an eyebrow, inquiringly.

"The Adam's Apple in your pants."

Kurt looked down at his crotch and back up again, chin in the air and lashes downcast.

"...I'll change into a skirt."

He selected a denim skirt from the pile on his bed next to Blaine and rounded the corner, wriggling out of the shorts. It was hard, being a woman; there was infinitely more strapping, cupping, shaving and tightening than he had first thought. He wondered how Gaga did it.

"Better?" He came back into view to turn in front of Blaine.

"Can't see a thing," Blaine smiled, giving him a thumbs up. "You know, this is very..._off trend_ for you."

"Number 15 on my list is 'dress like the simple folk do', its killing two birds with one ugly stone."

Blaine watched as Kurt fiddled with a small bottle of glue and attempted to affix a row of lashes to his upper lid.

_"Sometiiimes it's haaaard to be a womaaaan... doo doodeedoodeedoooo,_" he sang softly, one eye squinted shut.

"Where did you get the shoes?"

"Mustang Sally's Bigfoot Alley. It was horrific, but desperate times..." Kurt looked down and pulled a face. "Hey, can you fix this for me, it won't stick properly," He gestured to where one of his falsies fluttered against his cheekbone, barely clinging to his lid. "I feel like Aragog is trying to eat my eye."

"Sure."

Kurt knelt down in front of Blaine's knees and handed him the glue. Blaine took the little bottle and began to apply the eyelashes on, his hand cupping Kurt's chin as he worked.

_"Giving all your love to just one man,_" he hummed, pulling away from Kurt's upturned face once finished.

"Done?"

"Done."

Kurt blinked a few times experimentally and then grinned up at Blaine, "Fantastic!" he said, patting the dark haired boy's knee, "Now it's your turn!"

"No no no no!"

Almost an hour later Kurt smiled at his achievement, brushing off Blaine's shoulders and tweaking his cowboy hat.

"See, you look like a young John Wayne!"

"I look like a more feminine Madonna."

"That's the chaps."

Blaine adjusted his hat with a sigh. "How much longer is this going to go on, Kurt? You managed to get Veronica Mars back on air, isn't that enough?" He looked at the clock. "It's on now by the way."

"Oh, I am so over that show."

"This is getting insane. We've been doing that list for months. Surely we are near the end?"

Kurt smoothed down his skirt. "Not yet," he said, tapping a red tipped finger against his lips. "But we're getting there."

"Why wouldn't you let me shave?" Blaine wiped at his jaw. "I feel like a degenerate."

"You look amazing. And old. The old part is important if we want to get into the club. Which reminds me." Kurt reached into his purse. "Here's your I.D."

"Bubba? Bubba Gibson?" Blaine looked up in confusion. "This guy looks nothing like me!"

"Yes, he does! And it'll be dim lights. And you'll be wearing a hat."

"Kurt! He's _black_!"

"Oh, Blaine. Stop worrying. Mine doesn't look like me either." He held it out with a grin. "See?"

"April Rhodes?"

"That's right, y'all!" Kurt put his hands on his hips and pouted. "What do you think?"

"I... I can kind of see it."

Blaine Anderson was an idiot. So it was appropriate he was dressed like one. He was an idiot who gave idiotic advice that resulted in idiotic results.

Like winding up in a dive like Rosalita's Roadhouse. Blaine tapped his nail against the sticky surface of the bar, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Kurt. The boy, well, _girl_ was swaying to a country song about cows and ugly children or something with a happy little grin on his face. It was going to be a very long night.

He had being prepared to be picked up by the scruff of his neck and thrown across Lima as they entered the bar. But the bouncer had merely glanced at the I.D, clapped Blaine on the back with a "Hey Bubba" and had given Kurt an indecent leery wink. Blaine sighed rubbing at his temples. He just wanted a decent night's sleep but doing all this meant time with Kurt and...Blaine wasn't ready to give that up easily.

"What can I get ya, bub?"

"Oh, er. Can I get a JD and diet coke. And a Shirley Temple?"

"Shirley Temple?" The bartender threw back his head and laughed. "For the little lady, I guess."

"No," Blaine frowned. "For me."

The bartender frowned and went to make up the order. Grumbling about out of towners as he went.

Blaine should have known. Put something in Kurt's head and it was like firing a rocket. Much like the rockets they had fired in that Azimio's yard at 3am last week. All Blaine had wanted to do was pull him out of his funk. Not turn him into _Fear Factor_ in couture. When would it stop? The more the list continued the more insane it became. And he was pretty certain he was wanted in more than one state now.

Blaine nodded as the barman brought back the drinks, pushing the Shirley Temple across the bar with his little finger like it was catching. There was more. Kurt was _hiding_ something, Blaine was sure. Every time he had tried to sneak a look at the list, Kurt would shriek and tear it from his fingers. Blaine held up his palms and sighed at the paper-cut marks. And the list just kept growing.

But not anymore. This was the last one. _Tonight,_ Blaine thought, I'm going to tell him. _Tell him how insane all this is_. How he wanted the old Kurt back. The Kurt that didn't streak through public football games. Blaine blushed at the memory. Okay. Maybe that list item had been worth it.

He might tell him something else, too. _The other thing._ The thing that he had been wanting to tell him for so long, but hadn't because, as previously stated, Blaine Anderson was an idiot. He grabbed the drinks and made his way back to Kurt.

"Okay, Jack and coke for you, and something a little less hard for me."

Kurt smirked and gave Blaine a knowing nod, suddenly Blaine's face felt very hot.

"Oh I didn't mean...I wasn't saying...Fuck you." He spluttered as Kurt's face creased in glee.

"Oh it was funny, come on."

"Fuck you, Hummel. I told you this was a bad idea."

"Don't be silly, the night's just getting started. We haven't even sung Islands In The Stream yet!" Kurt reached over and tugged Blaine's shoestring tie gently.

"You have to at least do a few shots with me, take the edge off of these outfits."

"Only if they do Apple Sourz."

Propped at the bar, Six shots in Blaine realised two very important things about Kurt. One: that if Blaine tipped every other shot into Kurt's glass, he wouldn't notice and two: that Kurt was a terribly, terribly flirty drunk.

Case in point, he was currently staring at Blaine with smouldering eyes, legs crossed, with one arm slung over the back of his barstool, swilling his drink slowly around his glass.

"Blaine, theres...there's something I've been wanting to do."

"Oh?"

"I think it's really important and I think that you should totally do it too."

Blaine watched as Kurt curled his tongue around his straw, sucking back his JD and Diet Coke without taking his eyes off his friend. Blaine cleared his throat.

"What's that?"

"I think... I think it's time we rode the bull." Kurt's arm swung out to the corner where a Buckin' Bronco stood proudly in a circle of foam. A large, curly haired woman currently had one hand on the reigns in a deathgrip, hat in the air whilst a crowd of people yelled "BEAST! BEAST! BEAST!" which Blaine thought was rather cruel.

"Uhhh... no thanks. I think I'll give this one a miss, sorry." He apologised, watching the rider be thrown bodily to the ground.

"Your loss, Willie Nelson," Kurt drained his drink and wiped his chin, eyes gleaming. "I'm going to ride that bull!" He yelled, sliding off his stool. "RIDE THE BULL!"A resounding cheer from the crowd cemented the fact that, yes, this was going to happen. Blaine rolled his eyes and put down his Shirley Temple to help Kurt up on the Buckin' Bronco.

Blaine rolled his eyes and put down his Shirley Temple to help Kurt up on the Buckin' Bronco.

"You gonna ride, miss?" the DJ grinned at Kurt as he clutched Blaine's arm, bouncing on the balls of his toes.

"Oh, I'm going to ride it _hard_."

"Uh, right. What's your name?"

"Kur—April!"

"Alright Ladies and Gents, next up to tame the beast is Krapril!" the DJ leaned in towards Blaine as Kurt scrambled into the ring, "What kind of a name is Krapril?" he muttered.

Blaine shrugged, "Her parents were hippies, it means wildflower in Sanskrit." And followed Kurt into the ring.

"Up you get, Calamity Jane." Blaine gripped Kurt's hips as he put his foot in the stirrup and hoisted him up onto the saddle.

"Whipcrack away! WHKTSH! WHKTSH!" Kurt made whipping motions at Blaine and cackled, grabbing the reigns. "HEY! DJ! I'M READY!" He narrowed his eyes, "Crank it up, Bitch."

As Blaine stepped back he noticed a folded square of paper by his foot and picked it up quickly before leaving the ring. As the speakers cranked up Steps' 5,6,7,8 and the Buckin' Bronco began to move, jerkily, Blaine unfolded the paper.

It was Kurt's list; Blaine's eyes scanned it quickly, a smile playing at his lips.

He was pretty sure at least one of the A Team was dead so that one was bust. And Kurt wouldn't be meeting Bette Midler any day soon. Especially not while atop of the Eiffel Tower. But then again, this_was_ Kurt.

As his eyes made their way down the page he gave a tiny hiss.

_Oh._

Swallowing thickly Blaine folded it back and gripped it in his fingers.

"MY BOOT SCOOTIN' BABY, YEAH!" Kurt yelled, making finger bangs at the crowd with his free hand. "RIDE 'EM COWBOY!"

_Ride 'em cowboy_? Blaine winced; Kurt was so going to regret this in the morning. He was actually surprised at how long Kurt had managed to stay on the bull; maybe he wasn't as drunk as Blaine thought?

"MY RODEO ROMEO! COWBOY GUY FROM HEAD TO TOE!" Kurt winked lasciviously at Blaine and blew him a sloppy kiss before being thrown backwards to the ground.

Maybe he was.

Blaine held out a hand to help his cross dressing friend, "Your wig is wonky."

"And your face looks like Wiley Coyote's ass."

Blaine stared back blankly.

"You know, after he falls into a cactus patch." Kurt explained dusting off his knees.

"Why didn't you just say cactus?"

"Too obvious. MORE DRINK!"

Blaine smiled. "Here. This fell out your back pocket. It was probably feeling claustrophobic and desperate."

Kurt's eyes flicked down to the bit of white paper in his hands. Blaine watched as the smile faded from his face and his throat bobbed nervously. "Did you...did you read it?"

"No." Blaine shrugged as Kurt's fingers curled around the list, a tremor running through them. "Now, do you still want to see if you can change the jukebox song by banging it with your hip?"

For a moment Kurt didn't answer, choosing instead to search Blaine's features. Finally relief covered his face and he grinned widely, "Mais oui!"

Blaine slowly grinned as the other boy sashayed away, pretending to lasso several patrons.

He sat for a while, contemplating what he had seen. It was pretty obvious that this was what it would take to get Kurt to stop conjuring up wilder and more impossible items to add to the list, and more than that it was obvious that it was what he really wanted. Blaine thought about the smile on Kurt's face and the sound of his laughter each time they completed a new thrill, he thought about the tight clutch of Kurt's hand on his in each anxious moment before, and realised something.

Blaine realised that what he needed to do now was find a sewing store.

"Did it work?" Kurt was hobbling towards him and rubbing his hip with a dark expression on his face.

"No, the damned thing is electronic! All it did was make some guy think I wanted to do The Bump." He plopped down in the seat next to Blaine and held up a hand, "I tried thumping it like Fonzie too, I just broke a nail." He mourned, inspecting his hand sadly.

"They're stick ons."

"Yeah, but if you don't have a full set you look trashy. Like Ke$ha."

Blaine wanted to point out how Kurt had spent a whole three hours lecturing him on the virtues of Ke$ha's style being a 'fuck you' to outdated notions of female sexuality, but held his tongue.

"I need another drink. That last one tasted like someone stole my wallet."

"Okay, one more and then we'll go?"

"Sure, Mr. Anderson. Whatever you say." Kurt slurred, stretching like a cat. Blaine turned back to the bar and gestured to the bartender for two of the same.

"Well ain't you just pretty as a picture and twice as shiny."

Blaine's ears pricked up at the gruff voice to his left, and he swivelled in his barstool to see a large, bearded man in a trucker hat and bodywarmer leaning over Kurt with a leering smile on his face. Blaine's hand curled into a fist, his nails digging into his palms, but, wait, what? Kurt was _laughing?_

"Oh, you're so sweet!"

"I calls 'em like I see 'em little lady, and you are one-"

Blaine didn't even need to look in a mirror to know his ears were burning a furious red; how could Kurt let him _talk_ to him like this? He didn't even have his bitchface on; he was pushing Truckster McBeardface lightly on his shoulder and mouthing _'stop it!'_ his cheeks flushed pink and a kittenish smile on his lips.

"Not meaning to be forward, but I've always liked a girl with big feet." The hulking man gestured at Kurt's white cowboy boots with an appraising grin.

Oh God, now Kurt was lifting his leg and twirling his ankle coquettishly in the air! This boy had _no_ shame.

"What's your name, sugar?" Kurt purred, twirling a curl idly round his finger and nudging the guy's bulging stomach gently with the toe of his boot.

"The name's Ned."

Blaine watched with horror as Kurt raised a hand to his mouth and leaned in to the man conspiratorially,

"Well, Ned," Kurt wet his bottom lip, "Lemme tell you a secret." He beckoned the older man closer with one crooked finger. "Some things are even _bigger!_" and he exploded with laughter, doubling over in his seat and almost falling off. Blaine jumped to steady him, slipping an arm around his back.

"Whoa there, C'mon, _Apri_l, I think it's time we got you home."

Kurt's laughing fit trailed off into a satisfied sigh and he waved a finger in Ned's shocked face.

"Next time think twice about coming on to poor, defenceless young girls, buddy," He slurred, tapping the end of the bigger man's nose. "Even Thelma had Louise and her gun." He aimed a jab to punctuate his meaning and missed, slipping a red-tipped finger into Ned's gaping mouth instead. "Oh, _ew..._"

Kurt wiped his finger on Ned's body-warmer a few times before Blaine dragged him out of arm's reach.

"You need to go home now, before someone cracks your head open!" Blaine hissed and Kurt waved him off, unperturbed.

"Nice meeting you, Ned!" Kurt trilled gaily as Ned blinked out of his shock.

"Fine, go home with that stubby little fuck!" Ned growled, swelling with anger. "You could have had a real man!"

"Oh, I've got a real man alright!" Kurt called back over Blaine's shoulder; Blaine just tightened his grip on Kurt's waist and wheeled him out the door to the sound of Ned's spluttering.


	5. Chapter 5

"Blaine, what's going on? Can I look yet?" Kurt tried not to press against the boy behind him as he led him into his bedroom. "It's not my birthday."

"One second. One second," Blaine hissed as his hands dropped from Kurt's face. "Don't open them!"

Kurt heard shuffling and then Nina Simone's "The Look of Love" began to fill the room.

"Open your eyes."

Kurt gasped. "What on earth have you done to my room? My Dad is going to kill me!"

"You...you don't like it?"

Kurt could have bit off his tongue at the hurt expression in Blaine's face. He looked around again and gave a smaller gasp. Because Blaine hadn't just needlessly vandalised his room, those were rose petals on every spare inch of the floor. Those were pictures of Venice and Paris on the walls. And Kurt had never seen so many scatter cushions. Blaine held up his hand, a single white rose between his fingers.

"Pour vous."

"Pour me?" Kurt took the rose gently, noticing Blaine had trimmed away the thorns. "What's going on, Blaine?"

"I wanted it to be romantic. This _is_ romantic right? I didn't mess it up?"

"No, it is. It really is!" Kurt said breathlessly. "I just don't under-"

"I saw the list." Blaine's gaze was direct and almost bruising in its intensity. "That night in the bar."

The rose dropped from Kurt's hand. "Wh...what?"

"I saw what you had in at number 1. I saw you'd scribbled it out. I saw that it re-appeared at 4. At 9. At 13. 16. 24. There it was again at 29. Jammed between learn Klingon and guest star in House."

Kurt's mouth was dry and his face felt like it was on fire. Too embarrassed to speak or meet Blaine's eyes, he stared instead at Blaine's shoulder. "I don't...I"m..."

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you just ask?"

"I..." Kurt licked his lips, raising a hand to cover his eyes. This was mortifying. "It was stupid. I'm sorry. You weren't meant to see," he finished in a dull voice. "You were _never_ meant to see."

"It's not stupid!" Blaine shook his head. "And why be sorry? All you had to do was ask. We could have got it over with weeks ago."

_Got it over with?_

Kurt smiled weakly. "But then I never would have got to stage dive at that Bublé gig."

"That wasn't stage diving, Kurt. That was a bizarre assault from above. And exactly! Why did you keep adding all this crazy things? Surely laying one on me would have been easier than inventing those electric trousers?"

Kurt began to shift from each foot, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Because I know you see us as just friends, and I wouldn't take advantage of that just for a stupid... a stupid list. Forget it. You were right all along. It was ridiculous. Let's just drop it." Kurt tried to move past Blaine but the other boy grabbed his shoulders and held fast.

"It would be a shame not to complete the set."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I'd like to help you. Like I've helped you with all the rest."

Of course. How had Kurt expected otherwise? That was just the kind of person he was.

"So, that's what all this is about?" He gestured around the room, and Blaine frowned at the bitterness in his tone. "A favour?"

Blaine shook his head slowly. "No. Not a favour. No." He took a step closer and Kurt swallowed, resisting the urge to hop backward. Instead he held his hands in front of the other boy as if to ward him off. "And definitely not bitter."

"Blaine, I appreciate the thought. I really do. But it's not fair on you."

"I honestly don't mind, Kurt! C'mon, I just want to help you. Let me give you your kiss."

Right, whatever. Like Blaine said. They may just as well get it over with. The sooner they did it, the sooner this ordeal was over. Then Blaine could feel like an awesome friend and Kurt could begin intensive therapy to pretend none of this had ever happened. Maybe he could move to Canada.

"Fine," Kurt sighed. "Okay. Okay." Closing his eyes he leaned forward, pursing his lips. This didn't mean anything. Nothing. Just another item on the list. He tried to ignore the butterflies in his belly. The frantic beating in his heart, the wooden object tapping against his lips...wait? What?

"Here's your kiss," Blaine said with a smile as Kurt's eyes snapped open. He held up a small box with his fingers. Under Kurt's dazed stare he opened slowly to reveal a small silver thimble.

"Erm, what?"

"A kiss? Like in Peter Pan?"

Fucking JM Barrie.

Kurt gave a tight, forced laugh. "Oh, I thought...I thought you were going to..." He twirled his fingers.

"You don't get it?" Blaine stepped forward, gripping Kurt's shoulders tightly.

"Should I?"

"I've told you before you remind me of Peter Pan. You're brave and courageous and...seem to be intent on turning your life into some sort of coming of age story..."

"Really? I always felt more like Tinkerbell." Kurt remembered how it had felt when Blaine had taken Rachel out on a date. He felt a lot less like Peter Pan then and a whole lot more like her, the jealous little fairy that kept coming between the handsome hero and his prissy little damsel.

"Well, I believe in you." Blaine grimaced. "That sounded...that sounded a bit more suave in my head."

Kurt put his hand on his hip and plastered a fake smile on his face. "Thanks for the thimble. Or, my kiss, I guess but I've got a ton of homework to do and..." He looked at the floor. "And a lot of vacuuming."

"But what about me?" Blaine frowned. "You see I made my own list." He dropped his hands, leaving Kurt's shoulders feel strangely barren and cold. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a piece of paper that had been hastily ripped from a notepad. "Here, take a look."

_01. Kiss Kurt  
02. Kiss Kurt  
03. Kiss Kurt  
04. Kiss Kurt  
05. Kiss Kurt  
06. Kiss Kurt  
07. Kiss Kurt  
08. Kiss Kurt  
09. Kiss Kurt  
10. Kiss Kurt_

Kurt stared down at it, his eyes wide. This had to be joke! It had to be!

But Blaine wasn't laughing.

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered, "What... I don't understand."

"I've had that list in my head for weeks. Months. Before we even had lists in the first place! I like you, Kurt." He stepped closer. "And I really, _really_ want to kiss you."

Kurt shook his head, his mind at a complete blank.

Blaine liked him! Blaine liked him! Blaine wanted to kiss him. On the _mouth!_

Luckily he was saved from saying anything more because Blaine closed the distance between them, his hand cupping the back of Kurt's head and pulling him down towards him. It started with a peck, wait was that a song? Shut up, Kurt! And then the kiss deepened into something more, causing Kurt to groan into Blaine's mouth. Kurt raised his arms and encircled Blaine's neck, the list and thimble clutched tightly in his fingers. Blaine's lips were soft and just the right side of forceful and, oh, my God, he was nibbling gently at Kurt's bottom lip! It was everything he had ever wanted in a kiss. And better yet. It was _Blaine._ After what Kurt estimated to be a decade, Blaine pulled back with a shy grin.

"How was that?"

"It'll do." Kurt laughed as Blaine's face dropped. "It was wonderful. Perfect. Fireworks. And..." He licked his lips and raised his brow. "Banana lip gloss?"

"Can you die happy now?"

"No. Absolutely not." Kurt shook his head, pressing his forehead against Blaine. "I just thought of a million more things to add to the list and they all involve you."

Blaine laughed and moved in for another kiss, but Kurt dodged his lips. Looking instead at the Blaine's list.

"Wait? Number 14! Blaine! I'm not an acrobat!"

**The End**


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